She said her name was Annalise. We met at the Greyhound/Amtrak station on Canal Street. She was a true native of New Orleans. To be accurate, they were called coon asses. She was dropping quarters in a cigarette vending machine when she tapped me on the shoulder. “Hey, Mister, do you have change for a dollar?”
I looked up from the newspaper that I had found on the bench. Her smile was hypnotic, her tee-shirt, damp from sweating in the ninety-eight degree weather. It was obvious that she wore no bra. Her hair was long, thick, and jet black.it was damp with sweat but still, very pretty. Her skin was tanned and if she hadn’t been so young, I would say leathery.
I dug in my pocket for change. Producing two quarters and a few pennies, I dropped it in her small hand and said, “There you go. Keep your dollar, just let me have one of the smokes when you get them.”
She stuffed the dollar back in her hip pocket and smiled. “Thanks, it’s a deal.” Turning back to the machine, she finished her purchase. Quickly opening the pack of Lucky Strikes, she offered me one.
I took two and put one behind my ear for later. She grinned and took one out for herself. Looking her over, I judged her to be twenty, no more than twenty-two years old. Sometimes it’s hard to tell. “Where ya going, Sha?” She asked with a thick Cajun accent.
Striking a match on the concrete bench, I lit my smoke, and offered to light hers. She bent down, sucking the fire into the unfiltered gasper. “I’m not going anywhere,” I answered, “I just came in to cool off a minute.”
“Yeh, it’s hot,” She declared, “I hang out here sometimes too. You know, for the air conditioning.”
New Orleans in August. Heat and the damned humidity. To be honest, I would rather the heat and even the hurricanes than to be anywhere that I would be cold. I didn’t mind the sweat. She sat and told me her first name then said, “But you can call me Anna.”
“I’m Terry,” I said, holding out my hand, “But you can call me Terry.”
She gave me a confused look then laughed. She nodded and took a draw on her smoke, sucking it deep into her young lungs. I was thirty-five at the time. Had the week off and nothing to do. We sat, smoking and chatting about the weather and not much else.
She was oddly familiar but at the same time mysterious. Not like meeting a stranger, but that’s what we were. I watched her close her eyes and lean back on the cool concrete of the bench. Her nipples pushed against the thin fabric of her worn-out tee shirt,
Mardi Gras, written across the chest in purple and gold.
I took another draw, and said, “It’s too cool in here today. Want to take walk around with me?”
She didn’t answer, just stood and followed me out. We were in no particular hurry, just strolled, not holding hands but maybe a little close for strangers.
Leaving Basin Street Station in our slow-rolling wake, we rounded a curve and crossed the empty street into what would later be renamed Louis Armstrong park. At the time, it was called Congo Square. A man was playing his trombone on a shaded bench, just fifty yards or so from us. Another played the trumpet further on.
The afternoon heat sent trickles of beaded sweat down the center of my back, my white shirt soaking up the moisture. I took one last draw on my cigarette and dropped it on the sidewalk, crushing it underfoot. She smoked hers slower.
In silence we walked past the old lady that was always there, feeding the pigeons, through the square and onto Rampart street. Slowly making our way to the Vieux Carre’, or French Quarter. I lived in a small apartment by the river. The building had once been a French hotel, a brothel, and several other established, albeit somewhat lawful, and that, in varying degrees, businesses over the last hundred and fifty years that it had stood. If the walls could talk.
“You want to come up?” I asked, “I have some beer in the fridge.”
Again, no spoken answer, she just made that expression that told me, she didn’t have anything else to do. There was no elevator. We walked up the wide curving stairs to the second story. My apartment, small as it was, was in the north corner. After opening the door, she walked past me to the small balcony that looked over the dirty cobblestone street below to the muddy river that crept by in silence. It was my favorite spot to spend time. Only big enough to put two chairs, I smoked and drank beer there.
I went to the icebox and pulled out two bottles of Miller High Life. Opening both with my church-key, I hung my arm over her shoulder, beer in hand. She turned her head, smiled at me then back to the river. She took her time watching the people, just ten feet below us, busy or just strolling.
“File’ Gumbo,” yelled a street vendor, pushing his cart slowly past.
“Hungry?”
“Yeh, Sha,” she answered,
I walked down to the street and caught up with him, half a block down. She watched me from the balcony, walking back up the street with two paper bowls, covered in tin foil. I held them up and she smiled down at me. By the time I returned to the room, the door still wide open, she had cleared off my small table.
I didn’t have any chairs in there so we sat on the two milk crates that were under the table. “There is some bread in the cabinet,” I told her as I peeled the aluminum from the bowls. She opened the wooden door that hung on loose hinges and took out the loaf.
“You don’t have much in there,” she said.
“I don’t cook,” I smiled, “We can get beignets in the morning. Cafe Du Monde is just a block over.”
She smiled as if to say, I was taking a lot for granted, but then said, “That sounds good.”
We sat, eating in silence, and drinking beer. I tore a piece of the loaf off to sop the dredges of my gumbo. It was getting on to three in the afternoon, the sun on my side of the building now, a long golden beam shone through the balcony door making the rest of the room seem dark.
Annalise pushed her bowl back and wiped her face with a paper towel. “That done hit the spot,” she said.
“It was good,” was my response. I was leaning back on the crate, my legs stretched out in front of me. Thinking of lighting that other cigarette.
I pulled the bone from behind my ear and placed it on my lips. Annalise smiled, then took it from me, “I have something better.” She pushed her hand into the pocket of her cut off jeans and pulled out a small bag of weed and a pack of Zig Zags. “Want one?”
Without answer, I took the papers and laid one out on the table. Just a pinch of the Mary Jane and I rolled it, holding the blunt for her to lick. She smiled and ran her tongue across the paper. I pressed it and lit another match.
We weren’t worried about the odor. This was the Vieux Carre’, after all. The river breeze and smells from the trollers and shrimp boats would hide that. One long draw, deep and heady. She took the bone and did the same. I held it as long as I could then slowly exhaled.
The effect was immediate for me, not being something that I enjoyed daily. I watched her blow the smoke up at the ceiling, saw the fan blades turn slowly, churning the discarded fumes. Looking back at Annalise, I saw her dark eyes on me and the smile on her lips.
She put the joint back to her lips and drew in another lung full. This time she stood facing me, she sat straddling my lap. I watched as she held the joint above our heads and put her lips to mine. I inhaled as she exhaled, taking in what she gave me.
I leaned back and again, held it in. When I opened my eyes, Annalise was crushing out the roach in my ashtray. I exhaled and pulled her to me. She blew the last of the smoke at the ceiling fan again. Marijuana and the scent of her perspiration filled my nostrils.
She smiled at me and ran her finger through my sweaty hair. We kissed for the first time and tasted gumbo and the spiciness of the marijuana on her tongue. Our tongues played and danced as we made out. I heard a radio playing on the street below. It must have been the hippie that lived on the bottom floor.
The music filled the air and our silent teasing was urged on as Sammy Johns sang, “She woke up and took me by the hand, we made love in my Chevy van.” The sexy lyrics and the cool beat were perfect for making love.
Analise was getting more into our making out. She sat back and pulled her tee-shirt over her head and wrapped it around the back of my neck, pulling me to her breasts. I kissed each almond-colored nipple. She moaned her approval.
I was becoming aroused and uncomfortable, my cock bent and trapped under her slight weight. My hands wrapped around her hips, pulling her to my body a bit. Her tits were right in my face so I went back to them. Her nipples were big and puffy, erect, and hard. She pulled my head to her, urging me on.
I went to work, sucking those nipples, a bite every now and then, just to hear her moans. The weed had me a bit fumble-fingered. I was having trouble unbuttoning her five-oh ones. Frustrated, I stood, holding her by her ass. She wrapped her legs around my waist and we kissed like lovers. I made a ninety-degree turn to my left and dropped her on my bed. She was laughing as I pulled her shorts down her hips. She wore no panties, but that’s just how coon asses were.
Was I a coon ass? No. I had only been living here since I was seventeen. My parents moved here for work, but that fell through. When they left, I decided to stay and try to get work on a shrimp boat. I was strong and able so I found a job and have kept it ever since. The things you think about, huh?
She had a thick, black pubic bush. Sparse black hairs on her unshaven legs and belly. It was nineteen seventy-three. To see o woman with shaved legs here was like getting ice cream from that gumbo vendor. It wasn’t common.
I pushed my palms up her legs to her meaty thighs, the perspiration causing her leg hairs to stand straight out. Pushing her thighs open, I laid between them. Her aroma was of feminine musk and sweat. My cock was throbbing in my khakis.
I parted her bush with my fingers, feeling her wetness. Her pink fleshy folds were pretty and inviting. Venturing further I flicked my tongue across her clitoris, tasting her. My eyes roamed the area of her sex, surprised to find a small tattoo of a devil with a heart impaled on his fork.
My tongue continued its assault on her larger than normal clit. She was very sensitive there. I sucked and flicked it, causing her moans to increase in volume and insistence. Her fingers on my head pulling me close and at the same time stroking me lovingly.
I felt her tremble and her hands dropped to her sides, forming fists. She softly pounded the old mattress and then it happened. She balled the sheet in her fingers, clutching it and pulling it.
“Oh, yes,” she whispered loudly, “Don’t stop, don’t.”
Her head fell back into the pillow as the sunbeam started to reach our bodies. She came hard, biting her lip to stifle a scream. I was rewarded with a spray of juices from her pussy. “Fuck,” she groaned, “Fuck. It feels good.”
I lapped at her like a man lost in the desert that had stumbled upon a spring. Her nectar was as sweet as honey from a young hive. I just couldn’t get enough. I drove my tongue deep and her orgasm washed her body through a hurricane of pleasure. A storm surge of gigantic proportions, such as she had never known, took her to exhausting levels.
Almost as suddenly as it had hit, it had left her panting. The combination of the orgasm and the weed had ended with her exhausted and sated. I softly kissed her thighs as she fell asleep, dust dancing in the sunbeam that washed over her young body.
Her soft breathing told me she was out. I pushed myself to my feet, removed my sweat-soaked tee-shirt, and found my Lucky Strike on the table. I would let her sleep. With a shake of my head and a smile, that I couldn’t explain, I lit my cigarette and walked to the balcony. Sitting on the concrete banister, I leaned against the lead-painted wall and watched a freighter glide past on the Mississippi River in silence.
After the big ship had passed, it left me staring at a billboard across the river. There were a man and a pretty blond woman. The man held a beer and the sign read, Falstaff, for your light-hearted moments. I blew a cloud of blue smoke from the cigarette into the air.
“Gumbo,” the vendor called, pushing his cart back up the street, “File’ gumbo.”
I watched the old cook stop and serve some men that trotted down the plank of one of the big trollers, then push on again, up the street, calling his sales pitch. I thought of the girl lying naked in my bed, and how the vendor had no idea. I looked back at her.
She slept like a baby, in the shadows. The sunbeam now to her left. I could make out the black bush between her legs that were still spread. Her breasts lay bare and pretty on her chest which heaved with every breath.
I wondered how many women had laid naked in this very room. A hundred and fifty years of prostitutes and tenants, hotel patrons, and girls like Annalise. “If the walls could talk,” I mumbled under my breath.
It was getting on, probably five o’clock. The room was dark but the outside was still bright. The sun didn’t set before eight or eight-thirty this time of the year. I noticed that my door was still open. I raised an eyebrow, “Eh,” I thought out loud, “Nobody here but us chickens.”
I looked at Annalise again, so pretty. Such a mystery to me before, but I realized that she was just a girl in a room with a guy, for love on this hot afternoon. She stirred, just then, stretching her arms and legs, waking up.
Annalise smiled as I tossed my Lucky Strike over the balcony, to the street below. “Are you hungry?” I asked, “The gumbo guy is down there.”
“Yeah, Sha,” she whispered, “There is some money in my pants. Why don’t you got us some fresh bread? Day other was green, eh.”
“I have money, Annalise,” I smiled at her accent, ”Be right back.”
I walked to the bed and intended to kiss her on the cheek, but she had different plans. She put her hands on my head and pulled me to her, kissing me like she missed me. “Thank you, Terry.”
I cocked my head and gave her a, ”thank you for what?” look.
“For before,” she smiled, “And for letting me nap.”
I smiled and said, “I’ll be back.”
She watched as I walked out the open door, and disappeared. I trotted quickly down the stairs and out to the street. I stopped the gumbo guy first, asked if he had jambalaya. He nodded with a smile so I told him I wanted two bowls and to wait for me. I then jogged to Centanni Grocery and Hardware. Grabbing a French loaf from the day-old shelf and two Coca Colas, I stopped by the checkout and paid the teenage girl for my goods.
Running back up the street, I saw the old cook had two bowls ready for me. I paid him and told him to keep the change. Out of breath, I looked up at my balcony to see Annalise, watching me. She was naked but hidden from the waist down. Not the shy type, her breast hung above the banister as she waved at me. I smiled and ran back inside. Up the stairs, I kicked the door shut with my heel when I got in the room. I put the bowls down on the banister, opened the cokes with my church-key, then grabbed the two spoons from earlier, wiping them with a paper towel. We ate on the balcony, I in my khakis, she in her skin.
We didn’t talk, just ate and smiled back and forth. The fresh bread made everything better. Annalise accidentally spilled a few drops of her jambalaya on herself. with her folded paper towel, she started dabbing at her breast.
Finishing my bowl, I set it on the balcony, and pushed her hand away from her chest, replacing her paper towel with my lips. She ran her fingers through my hair as I kissed her breasts again. It was as if she purred like a kitten.
I let my hands roam her body, finding their way to her ass. Kneading the soft flesh of her cheeks I sucked her nipples each in turn. She enjoyed my attention for several minutes. I was a little shocked, and even put off a bit when she said, ”Stop, baby.”
I backed away and gave her a confused look. ” It’s your turn,” she smiled.
She pushed me back against the concrete banister and dropped to her knees. I watched her smile up at me as she opened my pants and pulled them down. I too wore no underwear. I didn’t own any. She gave me a look of approval when she saw it hanging flaccid on my thigh.
Annalise put her hands behind my knees and moved closer. She took her time looking at me. Her eyes traveled the length of my cock, up and down. She was so close that her warm breath washed over my private skin. I felt my cock respond.
Annalise looked into my eyes, not blinking as she touched the tip of my dick with her tongue, I drew a deep breath. Her hands still holding my knees, she took my cock head into her mouth. Sensual and slow, she sucked and rolled me with her tongue. Her eyes staring, smiling at mine. Opening her lips, she took my shaft into her mouth, all of it. I was still only a little hard but she took it all.
“Ohh,” I moaned, ”That’s nice.”
She slowly pulled back, letting my cock out a little at a time till it fell free. She laughed as she looked at me, ”Your dick is nice,” she said, ” It’s getting big, yeh.”
I grinned as she took it back into her sweet mouth. I looked across the river, ”For your light-hearted moments,” I grunted a laugh and shook my head. She was working my cock in and out of her mouth. I was getting harder, thicker now.
Annalise took as much of my cock as she could on each stroke. I put my hands on each side of her face, her black hair, tangled and awry, fell over her shoulders. Another big freighter was headed upstream. The rusty ship was loaded with hundreds of box containers. I wondered what could be inside them.
Looking back down, Annalise was bobbing her head on my shaft. She was taking all but the last three inches of the base. She looked up at me and pushed hard, my cock slowly disappeared into her mouth. I felt her throat open, letting my cock head slip in. She took it all, every thick inch, staying as long as she could hold her breath. A foghorn shattered the silence of the river. We both looked at the ship to see a line of seamen waving from the bridge wing. Annalise stood, waving at them, smiling. My cock pointed up at a bent forty-five-degree angle.
I took her by the arm and pulled her to me, kissing her deeply. ”Want to go to the bed?” I asked, tired of the distractions. She walked in with me, under my arm. I lead her to the bed where she let me lay down, my cock pointing at my belly button. She crawled between my legs like a jungle cat. Still not using her hands, she took me in her mouth again, sucking as her head bobbed.
I watched in amazement as she swallowed me over and again. She finally looked up at me, smiling naughty, letting my cock fall free from her lips. She began to kiss and lick her way up my body until her sex was over mine, where she moved her knees outside my hips. She leaned forward on both hands, kissing me once again.
I tasted my sweat and precum. She was such a little tease. Pushing one hand between us, finally taking my dick in hand. I felt her wetness when she started rubbing me over her sex. I pushed up with my hips to no satisfaction, she held me just out of alignment every time I pushed.
She giggled at my frustrated efforts then whispered in her thick, Cajun accent, ”Be patient. It’s gone came, Sha.”
I choked out another grunt of a laugh then put my palms on her knees. She sat up straight and let my cock go, laying flat on my belly again pointing at my button. I pushed my hands, sliding them up her thinly haired thighs and down again.
Her hips ground her weight down on me, her wet pussy sliding along the bottom of my shaft. The heat of her pussy, so intensified by the friction of the grind, emanated a scent so strong of sex, I almost shot my load. I looked past her, to that billboard, still lit by the sun, ”Lighthearted moments.”
The man and woman on the sign seemed now to be laughing rather than smiling. The thought was something to take my mind from the imminent ejaculation of my cock. I guess I did need the distraction.
Annalise, stopped her motion and then reached between us again, taking my pussy soaked cock in her fingers. ”You wan fuck me, yeh?” she smiled.
”Yes,” I smiled back, ”I want to.”
She put my head at her opening then looked at me sweety, ”Don’t push, Sha, ” she instructed, ”You’re big, I wan go slow.”
I nodded and let her go at her pace. Just a little weight as she let her sex slowly sink onto mine. Her pussy was wet and so tight. A jolt of fear coursed through me. Had I misjudged her age? Her ruddy complexion could have fooled me. But I looked at her eyes. No, she was enjoying my size. That was not an expression of pain. My heart stopped racing.
”Oh, Sha, ” she cooed, her ass sitting on my lap now, ”You are big. But it fits, yeh.”
I smiled, my hands roaming her tits and whatever else I could reach. She started slowly grinding her pussy. My cock slid, at her pace and her pleasure, in and out. Her hands on my chest as she leaned over me. The sensations were many.
I felt her weight on my lap, her thick, damp bush tickled my balls. Her tightness squeezing my shaft and her juices trickled off my sack. Her breath panted onto my face, jambalaya and bread. It had been so long since I had had a woman. I savored every detail, every scent, every touch. I rushed her, no more.
She pinched her nipples as her eyes closed and her head turned from side to side. Her soft purring moans drifted to my ears. I couldn’t get enough. I inhaled deeply, taking in her musky, girl scent. It was all so heady and surreal. The room was getting darker as the sun touched the top of the buildings across the river. There was electricity in the building but the ceiling fan had no lightbulb. I sat up, as she continued to grind, took a hurricane lamp from its shelf above my pillow, and lit it with a match. Adjusting the wick to a dim burn, I set it back on the shelf and extinguished the match, flicking it over the balcony. Her smile was big as I laid back down. The yellow flame danced in the globe of my oil lamp like a devil, casting shadows on the walls and ceiling. The shadows danced in time with the rhythm of the flame.
Annalise was startled by the crash of thunder. A storm was rolling past. But that’s is how the old saying went, ”In Louisiana, if you don’t like the weather, just wait five minutes, it’ll change.”
A sudden roar of heavy rain and a flash of lightning. A cold breeze from the balcony and the thunder. I felt goosebumps rise on my girl’s skin as the glass panes rattled in the French doors of my balcony.
I stood, her legs wrapped tightly around my waist and her arms around my neck. She trembled. I could tell she didn’t like the stormy noises. ”Wait here,” I whispered, setting her on the bed.
Turning, I walked the four steps to the balcony and shut the doors. Then returned to find her hiding under my wool blanket, peeping at me. Sheets of rain slapped at the glass of the doors. With a smile, I picked up a corner of the blanket and slid under. The flame of the lamp glowed above us.
She pulled me close and I rolled on top of her. Her legs spread for me and I entered her again. Her legs wrapped around my waist as I began to thrust into her. I was struck by how tight she was. She seemed to have a slick, wet grip on my cock. Lightning crashed, striking something just down the street, followed by the explosion of thunder. The room seemed to vibrate. I pounded through, her body under mine, sinking into the bed with every thrust.
The wind outside was strengthening. Annalise, trembling, pulled me close and we kissed like we were on a sinking ship. The weather roiled around us as we made love in the dark room. The flash of lightning, like the strobe of a disco club. I felt her fingernails, digging, scratching my back. Her animal instincts coming to the surface, driven by the tempest. Another crash of lightning, it was very close this time. You could hear the zzzzt, and the boom of thunder was immediate. You could feel the shock wave passing through your soul.
I had been through many of these storms. It would be over soon, they always ended as quickly as they started. Annalise clung tightly, my hips bucking against hers. “Oh, Terry,” she grunted, “I’m gone come.”
I pounded harder, driving her orgasm, urging her to take the plunge. The rain had stopped, the thunder more distant. Those storms, like an orgasm, moved quickly. Annalise was experiencing her own storm inside now. The wool blanket now tangling around our legs.
“Fuck yes,” she grunted, “Yes, it’s good. Fuck, I’m cummin.” She pounded the mattress with her fists. “Don stop, Sha. Fuck me.”
Her orgasm swept her away. Mine hit just as she squirted again, my cock pumping my seed deep into her womb. “Ungh, yes,” I moaned into her ear, “I’m coming Annalise.”
I grunted with every squeeze of cum from my balls into her sweet hairy pussy. She wrapped her arms and legs around me, squeezing tightly, kissing me deeply. We stayed in bed and fucked for the next hour, orgasm and beer, bread and weed. Finally succumbing to exhaustion, we slept.
I woke to sunshine through the open balcony doors. I was sweaty already. Another hot day. Judging by the angle of the shadows on the buildings, it was around ten in the morning. Annalise had gone. I had expected nothing more nor less. I never knew her last name. The bag of weed lay on the table. Just enough for one more.
“File’ gumbo,” the old cook yelled.
I walked to the balcony, a cigarette lay smoking on the banister. She must have just gone. I picked up the bone and took a sweet draw. I was trying to decide if I should miss her when a little brown paper bag crunched down on the balcony.
“Annalise?” I smiled, she held two paper cups. The coffee smelled good. “I thought you had gone.”
“Yeh, I did. To Cafe Du Monde,” she smiled, “You wanted beignets, Sha.”
I took her in my arms and we kissed.
